September 23rd, 2016
The Avengers were doing as they pleased. Roaming around, enjoying the time that they didn't have to train or go on any missions. You sat with the rest of your team, typing away on your laptop.
You were the youngest member and still in college. Tony offered to have you transferred to Princeton, but you shooed him off and explained that you wanted to live a normal life.
Everything was going smoothly, you had your friends, the team, stark towers, and your family. But at the moment, things had a little turbulence.
You were a bit stressed out because your teacher, Mr.Simmons, had given you the liberty to write a short story of your own. Plenty of ideas came to your head it was just.... which one should you pick?
You sigh loudly, catching Clint's attention. "What's wrong, (Y/N)?" He asked, lifting a brow. You sigh once more, through your nose and look him in the eyes. "I've got to write a short story but I can't decide on which idea to choose." You scratched your scalp in frustration.
"Write about us." He chuckled, motioning towards the team. Your lips curved into a smile. "I wish, you know what? If I told everyone that I was (Super Hero Name), they would actually like me." He looked confused.
"Aren't you all miss-popular, shit thingy?" He asked. "Nope, I only have a few friends." He gawked. "If only they knew how great you actually are." He ruffled your hair and got up from his place on the couch. "Write about superheroes, lately people have been getting more interested." He grinned, walking down the hallway, leaving you in the living room alone.
You let your head fall to the back of the couch, sighing once more. "It's only three thousand words, right?" You said to yourself. "What's only three thousand words?" A voice asked from behind you. Your eyes meet to who owned the voice; Bucky.
"Hey, Buck. My short story, I have to turn it in Tuesday and I still don't know what to write about." You explained. He nodded slowly to himself, processing a few thoughts.
"Do you know what helps?" He started, but you deviously cut him off. "If I would know what helps, I'd be doing it by now, don't you think?" You grinned. He just kept a stoic face, making you laugh.
He cracks a smile. "Music." He simply said, taking a seat at the grand piano. Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. "You play?" You asked. "Well, yeah a little bit. Now work." He ordered, starting off a soft melody. You closed your eyes in delight, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You take a deep breath, getting to work.
He played classical music like Green Sleeves, Fur Elise, River Flows and Moonlight Sonata. He was good for a guy who only knew a 'little bit'. You peek an eye towards him to see that he had his eyes closed, body moving in sync with the music. He made weird expressions as if trying to find the right key. You could tell that he played with pure passion.
You typed and typed and typed. The music gave your creativity a nice flow. You created characters and their personal information, the setting and time the conflicts and point of views. At some point Steve joined Bucky quietly, adding onto the songs. It only helped you even more.
You finished the short story in a matter or two hours and both of them were still playing. You let out a relieved breath, saving the files on your USB and safely removing it. "I'm done, boys." You said, closing your laptop, sliding it into your bookbag. "Are you confident it'll do a good mark?" Steve asked, while still playing the piano. "Definitely, I wrote about you two." You said.
"Oh really? What about?" Bucky smiled, loose strands that fell out of his bun swayed with him, as he played. "You two being fuck-buddies." You shrugged, slipping on a strap of your backpack on your shoulder. There was a loud strained noise that erupted from the piano. You whip your head towards the instrument. Steve stood, hands sprawled on the keys and had an angry expression.
